


Nightmare

by j520j



Category: Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Established Relationship, Illustrated, Illustrations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 04:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j520j/pseuds/j520j
Summary: Sorry about my bad grammar.Check out my tumblr, guys! http://jussara520.tumblr.com





	Nightmare

It’s was a nightmare. Just a nightmare and he knew that. But this didn’t make the dream less horrible, or even more easy to wake up.

London was in flames. Enemy airships flying high and let dozen of bombs to fall. Women run with children in theirs arms, screaming and crying. And everything is for nothing. A bomb explodes and the civilians became a pile of scatering corpses. And, watching to everything completely helpless, there was a captain in despair. Blond hair disheveled and blue eyes filled with terror.

 _Wake up!_ he thought. _The war is over, Francis! A long time ago! Wake up!_

Britsh soldiers try, in vain, to shoot the airplanes with cannons, but they are too high. More bombs. More corpses. A young soldier fly above his head and fall next to him. But only half of his body. His hips are gone and his guts are all over the place.

“Ca-captain…!” he manage to talk, spiting blood. “… ru-run…!”

“David?!” he recognise the young Honeychurch. He was too young in the time of the war, tha’ts for sure. He couldn’t have fought. 

 _This is just a dream!_ he insists, shaking his head. _You just need to open your bloody eyes! Just that! Wake up, you idiot!_

More screans. More bombs. More blood. But the dream simply did not end. Why was his own mind torturing him like that? The nightmares about the war had been over for years. Why did he have to see his country, and his new friends, suffering like that now?

 _Is this real?_ his confused mind was no longer sure whether this was a dream or not.

But this concern gave way to another much worse: his stomach gave a lurch when he saw a airplane flying directely to 99 bis Park Lane. When did they get there? And how he could run so fast? Dreams. They had their own rules. A very familiar building was on the pump route. If he could scream, Francis would scream, but his dream would not let him not even that.

A bomb fell.

The building was blown away. 

 _Philip!!!_  he wanted to scream but he couldn't.

A mass of smoldering debris lay before him. In panic, he began to roll the concrete with superhuman strength. Effect of the dream or perhaps his panic allowed him to move the stones so easily.

Underneath all the rubble, he found a person.

The red hair had an extra reddish hue because of the blood. His hands, strong and firm, were inert. There was dust and dirt everywhere, and perhaps because of the weight of the slab on the person's chest, there were no indications that he was breathing.

In his mind, Francis already knew Philip was dead.

Francis pulled the scientist out of the rubble and grabbed him hard. He didn't breathe. He had no pulse, and though he probably hadn't been dead for more than five minutes, his body was icy.

Dead. 

In panic, the captain hugged him tightly. The unpleasant wet, viscous sensation of dried blood on his hands (and which he had felt more than once in his sad experiences in the war) made him despair.

 _No, no, no, don't do this to me, Philip!_ _Wake up!_

_Please. Wake up... you cannot die, not before me! Wake up!_

_WAKE UP!!!_

_._

_._

_._

 

“Francis! Wake up!”

The captain almost jump out the bed. It’s dark, but in a second later the dim light of a bedside lamp makes him wince. He looks at his side and saw a disheveled red haired man looking at him with worry. 

“Are you alright?” asked the man, resting one hand on his shoulder.  

Philip. It was Philip at his side, alive. Talking with him, touching him.

He was alive!

“By Jove, you’re trembling! It was a nightmare, right?“ the scientist continued to talk. “You were moving too much and I heard you cry for help. Was it a bad dream? Do you need... oooof!"

The professor had to stop talking because Francis hugged him tightly, burying his head in his chest and expelling air from his lungs. With caution, Philip returned the hug, hoping this would make his lover stop shaking. For a moment the two were silent, only broken by the soft sob that came from the captain.

"Was it so bad?" Philip asked, stroking Francis's back. 

"Yes..." 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"... not now... later."

The sound of Philip's heart beating (thankfully!) made the captain calm down. More relaxed, he lay back down, but still holding the scientist's hands.

"Rest now, old chap. In a few hours we'll both have to get up and have a full day ahead."

"Ah, yes." Francis let out a long sigh. "Can I not miss at least a day? I'd rather stay home with you. Maybe I can call Honeychurch and say I will not be working today."

"In this case, we'll not be together the same way. I need to travel tomorrow."

"What? Where?"

"Don't you remember? I'm going to visit a friend in Madagascar."

_Oh, right. Philip had marked this trip for weeks. He was always traveling to meet his scientist friends._

_Damn!_

In recent times, even after they had engaged in that relationship, the two men barely had time to be together for more than a whole month. Work with the intelligence service kept Francis always busy, and Philip was always traveling to inhospitable places in search of knowledge. And as unpleasant as this prospect was, it was Philip who had always been engaging in the most dangerous situations. This displeased Francis a lot. Thinking, if he remembered, most of his nightmares included dangerous situations with philip. All of them horribly realistic.

The scientist snuggled in the bed and threw an arm over Francis's waist, giving him a tender kiss on the neck.

"Sleep well, chap! I'm sure tomorrow you'll be better." 

 _No, I'll not._ was the phrase Francis meant, but at the same time he didn't want to start a discussion at four in the morning. Philip looked really tired and needed to sleep.

 _Why do you need to travel so much?_ was the question Francis already knew the answer. _Why do you always have to put your neck at risk?_ another rhetorical question.

As long as he lived, the scientist would continue to make such dangerous journeys, just as Francis would continue to work against the enemies of Britain. They both had dangerous lives and this would probably never change.

Francis turned to Philip and hugged him. The professor let out a soft murmur of satisfaction before falling asleep again.

If he could, the captain had never allowed his lover to travel abroad. Out of the house. Out of that bed. Like a dragon taking care of a hoard, Francis wanted to keep Philip under his sight forever. He knew it was selfishness and possession, but he couldn't help it.

But one day he would accomplish that. Even if he had to give up his job at MI5. One day he could always stay close to Philip, ensuring that he would always be protected. A foolish, almost childish thought, but he didn't care. it was better than having a head full of the feeling of helplessness. Of failure. Of not being able to keep the person you love protected. It was a nightmare that, every time Philip got into trouble, became real.

 _One day ..._ he thought, still hugging the professor. _... one day these nightmares will stop._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about my bad grammar.
> 
> Check out my tumblr, guys! http://jussara520.tumblr.com


End file.
